The Guardian of Dust

In a little decrepit fishing hut by the endless black sea is sat two men overlooking the ashy, grey horizon from a muggy, moss-covered window. Inside the hut was a little oil lantern which illuminated most of the wooden inside, there wasn't much inside the house to block the light except for broken crates and in the corner was a workbench which had seen frequent use, of course it was mostly falling apart, most things here were broken anyway. 

One man was putting on a bandoleer, all the bullets were spread far apart, for each loop which had a bullet in it, there were 4 or 5 which held nothing until the next bullet. The other man was sitting on a thin chair next to a table in the centre of the room. He was sipping on some tea, or some liquid trying to guise itself as tea. There was a small glass on the table with some citrine concoction in it and the illumination by the lantern casts a warm glow over the wooden wall behind the glass. Various firearms also decorate the table, mainly produced 20 to 30 years ago. Old, but relatively reliable.

"You've got a long way ahead of you." Said the older man holding the cup. Just after saying that he takes a swig of it and his face contorts and winces at the taste.
"No kidding, Béranger. But I've taken the trail for long enough, I should be fine." He assures as he finally straps the equipment to himself. He asks "Do you have a light?"
The old man reached into the pocket at his breast and handed the other man a carton of cigarettes while indulging in his tea.
"No you fool, when I take the lantern, do you have something to light, you know, to see?"
"Oh, right, yeah." He points to the broken crates. "I'll finally burn those up."
"You're staying outside?" The man said while grasping his rifle that was resting on one of the wooden planks that comprised the shack.
"Yeah, I can't exactly burn it in here, right?"
"It's dangerous out there, old man, you're not old enough yet to be senile, you know this." The man grabbed an old muddy cloth from his pocket at his hip, he opened the bottom left pocket of his military coat and felt the wool serge of the inside, it made him feel comfortable for some reason, he always liked grabbing things from this old, worn out coat. He clasped at the cloth and pulled it out his pocket, ending his little reprieve. He started to wipe down the metal parts of his rifle, and some dirtier wooden parts too. 
"Oh yeah kid, you're right." Béranger sarcastically sassed "I'll just stay in here in complete darkness, who knows maybe my cigarettes will provide enough light for me to not trip over some garbage on the floor and perish."
"You don't have to be an ass about it. Geez, I'm just looking out for you. I would have never gone out this late if Fabre had returned." His brow furrowed, he placed his hand on his head and felt the moist grasp of cold sweat clinging to his hand "Fuck, poor guy is either scared shitless in Douarnenez or in the fucking ground"
"Ah calm down you fuckin'... plouc... look, Fabre is fine, I'm sure of it. Remember last time you were in Douarnenez? They're facing quite the food shortage at the moment, he probably just stayed till you come to help them out a bit."

The man put the cloth back into the pocket from where he grabbed it and closed the flap. He hoisted the gun over his back next to his haversack and held tightly onto the strap of the gun.
"I sure hope you're right. Anyway," He picked up the glass from the table and drunk it in one swig. The alcohol instantly coursed it's way through his entire body, like a giant burst of flame which left every inch of himself in a smouldering burn, but it felt good, and it woke him up.  "I should uh, get going." He acknowledged. The old man raises the cup up high and a waterfall comes rapiding down the cup and into his mouth. He slams the cup on the table and quickly objects "Wait!" The old man quickly scurries his hand into one of his many pockets and pulls out a shiny object. He let it swing between two fingers and a silver cross could be seen dangling. 

"Oh fuck off, like that's going to help me." The man condemned.
"I know things have been a little off since the conclusion of the Aeon Project, but for God's sake its just a necklace, Mercier. I promise you, it's saved me many times when I've come face-to-face with a Gauger. Even if it doesn't help you, it doesn't hurt to at least wear." Béranger pleaded with him. "I..." Mercier started, but couldn't find a good reason to argue the fact. he didn't want to wear the necklace, he hated thinking about spirituality anymore. But if the power of Christ still somehow existed, well, he'd want it on his side. "Fine." he snatched the necklace from Béranger's hand and flung it over his head. He tucked it under his olive drab shirt, close to his beating heart.
"Thank you. Now, safe travels." The old man said, handing Mercier the lantern.
"You be careful too, I hate the idea of you staying outside all night."
"I won't be any more safer in a pitch black, decrepit shack, that's for sure."